


We Can't All Lie

by mushembra



Series: Darla 'One-Shot' Cunningham, Sniper for Hire [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Agent Whisper, And is willing to lift her up when the burden is too much, Angst, Because Deacon cares, But Deacon is, Darla isn't a very good spy or liar, Desdemona (Mentioned) - Freeform, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Mention of Death, Platonic Relationships, Railroad Heavy, Synth Retention, The Brotherhood of Steel (Mentioned), The Institute (Mentioned), The Railroad, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6344299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushembra/pseuds/mushembra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darla (a.k.a. Agent Whisper) is put in a difficult position, tasked with going undercover to gather intel and sabotage The Institute in hopes of gaining the upper hand.<br/>The burden is becoming too much for her in a time of pain and grief, and she feels that just maybe, this would be when the unforgiving Commonwealth swallowed her up, making another victim out of her.<br/>Deacon refuses to see one of the few good things left in the Commonwealth be swallowed up by the death and violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can't All Lie

**Author's Note:**

> So the quests reaching towards end-game are reeeeally getting to me, and I just...AAAAAAAAAAAAH!
> 
> So I was doing the Synth Retention quest, and I ended up in a firefight with The Brotherhood of Steel, thanks to X6. He wouldn't follow me away towards the Raiders, so I ended up having to kill them to continue on with the quest.
> 
> Darla would be very pained by having her hand forced for the sake of her cover to kill innocent soldiers who are simply trying to secure a hostile location. She doesn't want to start a war with them, and kills the soldiers with a heavy heart. If she can, she'd love to avoid turning the Commonwealth into a warzone, but she's starting to see perhaps, that's unavoidable.
> 
> I think I may write quite a few fics expanding on the quests and how she'd react to everything going on, since some of the dialogue prompts are not ideal for how she's characterized. I feel there's just so much more I can do
> 
> So, here, take some angsty trash

The cries were haunting, eerie, enough to create an intense discomfort that settled in Whisper’s heart. The Brotherhood soldiers didn’t stand a chance against the Courser, nor the woman they had believed was serving as a fellow Knight. She understood why she was helping The Institute, she understood the importance of her mission to the Railroad, but this was pushing passed the point of her capabilities mentally. The plan, as it stood, was to free as many Synths as wanted to be saved from The Institute, but Z1 needed time to get his fellow Synths combat ready for the breakout. So for the time being, she had to pretend to be in league with the deluded faction and work for Father, who in fact was the son she had so desperately sought since her escape from Vault 111. It shouldn’t have been hard. She should have been able to separate herself from the persona she was allowing the Institute to see. Hell, Deacon did it all the time. But Whisper was not Deacon, and lying was not her forte. In fact, the longer she went on pretending to help Shaun, the harder it became to separate herself from what was a lie, and what was the truth. She was breaking down, and she wasn’t sure anyone either gave a damn, or could see the pain her situation was causing.

X6 had initiated the attack before they could begin their mission to retrieve the Synth from Libertalia. Whisper had hoped that they could sneak passed the vertibird keeping watch over the area, but the Courser was firing upon them before she could regain her bearings, explosions and gunfire ringing in the air around her. Deacon could see the horror in her eyes, sweat dotting her brow, her body convulsing in nervous shakes. She didn’t want to do this. It didn’t have to be this way. But for the sake of their cover, refusing to join the fight wasn’t an option. It would arouse far too much suspicion from one of The Institute’s top Courser Agents. As if on auto-pilot, she followed X6 into the fight, her Gauss Rifle blasting holes through torsos, frying away the faces of her victims, the soldiers now unrecognizable. She had to bite back a gag, hide the tears and the pain that accompanied the array of guilty emotions. Deacon was just as hesitant to join the fight, but did so for the sake of his partner. She shouldn’t have to suffer this alone. Desdemona was going to get a tongue lashing when he got back to HQ. Screw her being their ‘fearless leader’. He didn’t really give two shits if she put him in shitty situations, but Whisper didn’t deserve this. She was suffering enough as it was.

It took many hours for the trio to make it to the largest of the flotilla, where the Synth known now as Gabriel was holed up. The Courser had expressed his approval of the woman’s combat skills, but the compliment fell on deaf ears. Whisper was numb, eyes lifeless as she and Deacon left the wreckage of a village that served as a base of operations for the Raiders, X6 having left her to return to The Institute on her own time when she was ready to give her report of the operation to Father. She’d much rather never return to that sterile world, a lie buried beneath the hell that everyone else was forced to live in. How could they all live there, knowing so many were suffering in the world above them? Were they truly so blind to the suffering? Were they really so selfish? It made her so sick to her stomach. Every time she had to lie to a scientist or confront Father, she felt herself surging with pain and anger. It took every ounce of willpower within her to keep from exposing herself or her intentions. It would have been so much easier to just send Deacon in to be their spy, but she understood why it had to be her. In the end, it would always have to be her.

“Yo Whisper, you’re clamming up. Come on, talk to me. I know some pretty good interrogation techniques if I need to use them. _Orrrr_...I could play good cop, bad cop.”

Whisper ignored Deacon, ambling in the direction of the Boston Ruins, heading in the direction of The Railroad HQ. Des would want an update on her status with The Institute and the new intel she had gathered. Honestly, she’d much rather take a breather, piece together her fractured mind before her next run in with disaster.She’s found herself needing to take more and more breathers, given the heavy nature of her recent missions and tasks around the Commonwealth. Between defending the various settlements under her watch as the General of the Minutemen, to being a Railroad Heavy, to trying to sort out a way to keep a war from breaking out with The Brotherhood, the stress was getting to her, and she found it harder to travel days on end as she used to before needing to rest at a place she deemed safe (these places being very few). It was hard for her friends to watch, Deacon being one of those people.

Deacon had never intended to get close to Whisper. He knew how this job was. Being a Heavy in the Railroad meant that you were risking life and limb on every job you accepted. There were too many people in the Commonwealth who despised Synths and would much rather do away with them rather than give them a chance at a better life. Few saw them as living beings as those more sympathetic, so death was a constant occupational hazard. They all knew this, Deacon especially, having been one of the few who had escaped the massacre of The Switchboard. Yet here he was, his heart seizing at the pain this poor woman was suffering. She was someone he trusted, which was a startling thought, considering the fact that he didn’t trust a damn soul. Not since Barbara’s death. Not since lying and morphing his sense of self became the only way he could cope with existing. Not since he knew anyone and everyone could sell a lie then send you down the river. But Whisper...she was a pre-war gem who managed to maintain her authenticity. She was out of time, and out of character when compared to everyone else who lived in the Commonwealth. It made him want to protect her. She deserved that much, needed someone willing to have her back where everyone else would be far more likely to use her for personal gain.

“Whisper, come on, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you snapped on me! Man, Des snapped something awful once. I came back with the arm of a Synth to ‘verify’ that we had lost a safehouse, since she doesn’t always take my word for it, and boy was she…”

Deacon could tell that Whisper still wasn’t listening to him. She continued on, stumbling, footsteps unsure and unsteady. Oh man, this wasn’t good. She was always strong in the face of adversity, so this breakdown was new territory for him. What the hell was he supposed to do? He continued to follow closely behind her for some time, before he reached out to grab her arm, trying to impede her progress forward. She obviously needed someone, and she needed an ear desperately, even if she wasn’t willing to pipe up for help. But upon feeling her friend’s hand wrapping gently around her arm, her instincts kicked in, and she whipped around quickly on her heel, giving Deacon a firm backhand slap to the face. Silence fell over them, Deacon in shock, Whisper in horror. Had she really? Her friend? He hadn’t deserved that. He really hadn’t deserved that. Why would she do something like that?

Deacon, knowing Whisper all too well, knew she was already reeling into a spiral of guilt and blame. It wasn’t her fault. He had to imagine the last couple of weeks were very traumatizing for her, and he didn’t hold the rather mild assault against her. No one was giving her time to grieve, to work through the pain, and it angered him. There was only so much she could endure before she would crack, and he could see those cracks starting to grow. God was it hard to watch. In fact, Deacon had started having a lot of heated arguments with her other companions and friends. She needed a damn break, and she wasn’t getting it. He knew they meant well, trying to better the Commonwealth, and Whisper was always willing to lend a helping hand. But good god, she’d only been out of the vault for a couple of months, and yet shouldered more responsibility than anyone else he knew. How was that fair?

Whisper was already starting to back away, despite the fact there was no hint of anger on Deacon’s face. Seems she expected it, but pushing that topic was not entirely appropriate right now. He was, contrary to her expectations, stoic, face soft and inviting, body relaxed, in an attempt to show her that he wasn’t going to hold any anger towards her for the outburst.

“Deacon I...I-I’m so...I didn’t m-mean…”

“Hey, what’s a friendship without a few tussles every now and then, huh? No sweat. Besides, I think Carrington gave me a wallop a lot worse than that before…”

It didn’t seem to console Whisper like he had hoped it would. Her face was pale, body quivering as she uttered weak apologies to her partner. Not the reaction Deacon was hoping for. Humor was his thing. Tenderness and openness was not. But he also knew being there for his fellow agents was very important, especially if that agent happens to be your friend. All they had in this mess was each other. As far as anything dealing with The Railroad went, she only had him (well, she also had Nick, but she tried to spare him the details of her Railroad affiliation or her goings-on with The Institute, should it trigger something bad for him, given that he was a Synth). Deacon wasn’t about to leave her to do this alone, even if she wasn’t willing to admit she needed the support. He knew desperation when he saw it.

Deacon stepped out in front of Whisper, halting her steps, peering over the sunglasses ever perched on his face. She really wasn’t looking so good. Honestly, if he could take the guilt away, he would. He was used to this, she wasn’t. Hell, he wasn’t sure she was entirely used to the Commonwealth at this point, but that didn’t seem to be a factor is Des’ plans. He was worried her mind was starting to scar, unable to juggle where she stood in the grand scheme of everyone’s plans. She was caught in the middle, her life completely out of control. He’s seen even the strongest of people break, and he would never be able to forgive himself if Whisper became a shell of the woman she was because she pushed herself too hard. Whisper glanced upward to the eyes concealed behind the sunglasses, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Why did it have to hurt him so much to see her like this? He thought he was passed this.

“Stop. Just stop, ok? Look, lets sort this out. You _need_ to talk, because if you don’t, I think you’re gonna explode...come on. Sit a spell with me.”

Deacon gestured to a nearby bench, Whisper giving it a glance before nodding, moving to sit herself down before he sat down beside her. The air was thick with tension, though it was not between the two of them. He wasn’t sure what to do. He has spent a long time building a wall to surround his personal self in order to keep out others, which hasn’t been seen since the death of his wife, in favor of giving the world a face that he wanted them to see. He had to keep it that way. The world was too dangerous, and no one could be trusted. But right now, Whisper needed him to crack open the door he had shut such a long time ago. Oh boy, the things this woman made him feel, made him do. He wasn’t sure whether he should feel aggravated or allow these now foreign, warm feelings to fill him up. He was getting into very dangerous territory here.

“Look, Whisper, you’re pushing yourself too hard. I get it. You gotta finish out this op for Des. You want to save as many Synths as you can from those bastards. Pal, you have a conviction stronger than even some of the most dedicated heavies I’ve ever seen, aside from Glory, of course. But _jeez_ , you’ve been through quite the ordeal, and you’re not even giving yourself the time to work through it. Just going through the motions, faking it until you can make it. But hey, all of this helping people and what not doesn’t mean _jack_ if you’re barely putting the thought into it.”

Ok, he didn’t mean to sound so blunt, but Deacon had a feeling blunt and honest is just what she needed. It’s a good thing that Whisper was helping out the Commonwealth, but doing so as a husk of her true self was honestly cruel and unfair to those she was aiding. She might as well just clear out some land for a new settlement and leave a group of farmers to their own devices, untrained, unprepared, and without the materials to expand and build. He couldn’t let her carry on like this. Whisper let out a heavy sigh, teeth clenched, her hands balled into fists so tight her knuckles went white. She was holding back, understandably so. It’s not like Deacon has openly ever offered support or comfort to her. It’s not really something he did, but for her, he’d be willing to peel back the veil.

“You’re not a pack mule, you _don’t_ have to shoulder this all alone. Des expects way too much out of you given the extraordinary circumstances, and I gotta say, I certainly don’t approve. But I guess I don’t make those calls, huh? I think I would have at least tried rotating you out of these do or die missions for a while. She’s relying way too much on your ties to your son. Hell, just using you in general for The Railroad’s agenda. There's gotta be a way to give you a break.”

Still nothing. Christ it was proving much harder to reach her more than usual. Time for drastic measures, he supposed. Deacon reached an arm around Whisper, pulling her in an awkward embrace. Finally, some progress as the woman leaned in against him. She was tense and shuddering, and her breath coming in rapid and short, near hyperventilation. She was definitely in a bad way, which made the anger surge in his chest once again. Oh yeah, he and Des were going to have some words. Poor thing was going to have an ulcer at this rate.

“Whisper look, I get it. People kinda just keep taking and taking from you. People out here are going to take advantage of your kindness and willingness to help, and that _really_ blows, but it’s the reality of the world we live in. Kinda makes it hard to trust people, huh? Gotta admit, I actually pegged you wrong. Thought you trusted _way_ too easily, and that’s why you do what you do. But that’s not it. In fact, you don’t trust anyone with your burdens at all, do you? Well, aside from Mr. Mercenary MacSadface.”

That got a chuckle, and Deacon was rewarded with a small punch to the arm.

“You need to stop picking on R.J. so much, Dea…”

“Hey, he may as well have a sign on his back begging me to jab him. Seriously. He needs a therapist and to get that ten foot stick out of his ass.”

They both shared a short laugh, and finally, Deacon could feel the tension leaving Darla’s body. There was still such a sadness and lost look in her eyes, but there was more of her liveliness in her face. So he must have said something right. Pain didn’t suit her friendly face.

“You’re right, you know.”

“Well _duh_ , I’m always right. Well, about 98% of the time. I think P.A.M. said it was more like 34% of the time, but what does she know?”

“I’m serious, Dea. You’re right. I _don’t_ trust anyone with my pain, my thoughts, my personal shit. Hell, I didn’t before the bombs fell, either, so why would I now? I’ve always felt so out of place and so forgotten that I just started...bottling it up. I started helping other people sort their shit, hoping that maybe I could vicariously help myself through them or something. Never really worked. Just started making it harder the more I shouldered until I just couldn’t carry the burden anymore.”

Deacon certainly could relate. Since Barbara’s untimely death, trust is something he didn’t gift to a single soul, and likely never would again. The guilt weighed too heavily on his heart. The only means he found to cope with his past and his mistakes was to lie compulsively, never giving anyone the opportunity to get close to him. He was disgusted by the person he saw in the mirror, no matter how often he got his face changed. He refused to let something like that happen to anyone else. No, no one else was going to die on his account. And yet, he found himself trusting Whisper, albeit from an arm’s length away. Maybe it was because she saw things for what they really were. Maybe it was because in a way, she was also punishing herself unfairly, even cruelly (though he would disagree if anyone said he didn’t deserve punishment for the things he’s done. Whisper always thought otherwise). She needed someone she could trust, and perhaps Deacon needed the same.

“I’m feeling so... _played_. Everyone’s trying to tear me over to their side, but who’s right? I mean this isn’t just about me. As General of the Minutemen, the Commonwealth’s future is in my hands. This affects _everyone_. But, I can’t say I agree with what everyone is trying to spoon feed me. I mean, we just...k-killed innocent people for the sake of our cover. Sure, I can’t fucking stand the Brotherhood. I think Elder Maxson is a deluded quack, and he has his soldiers brainwashed, but…”

Oh boy, the water-works were gonna start, weren’t they? Deacon turned himself towards Whisper, pulling her tightly now in both of his arms. If it weren’t for the fact that they were so close to coordinating this insane large scale breakout at the Institute and were in way too deep, he would have called off this mission before something like this ever happened. Des was blinded by her mission to save Synths, unable to see just how much of herself Whisper was having to sacrifice to obey her orders. Add the fact that there was so much more going on in the Commonwealth Des refused to see for the sake of their ‘purpose in the world’, it was enough to make Deacon want to take a break, hide out somewhere to gather his thoughts and reset his life again. That’s why it was so refreshing to see Whisper go out of her way when they had the time to help anyone in need, Synth or not. She really was a rare gem out here, but Deacon worried that was going to get her killed sooner rather than later, a reality he didn’t want to face.

“What matters here is you and I both know you wouldn’t have killed those assholes if you weren’t forced into the situation. This whole mess, all this chaos and bullshit, it isn’t your fault. I don’t care if this ‘Father’ is your son--”

Whisper cringed, the tears trickling slowly down her face, though she stifled back the loud, choking sounds of her sobs. Poor thing hasn’t even had time to really process all of this. The second she got back from The Institute, reeling from the truth thrusted before her, it was all reports, and frantic missions, and busy-work, despite Deacon’s protests to give her a reprieve. Desdemona simply brushed him off, said they now had little time and too few agents. She was more of an asset than ever, and was convinced to push through her personal feelings so The Railroad could gain the upper hand.

“You didn’t raise him. The Institute did. They’re responsible for this, not you. You need to stop blaming yourself, you hear me? No more what-ifs, no more ‘I should have done this, or that’. Hey, look at me.”

Whisper turned her gaze up to Deacon, the man pulling his sunglasses down a fraction so she could properly meet his gaze. She was a little stunned by the intimate gesture, and found comfort in how much trust he was showing her. Not exactly a side she even thought Deacon had, to be honest. She felt honored he cared so much that he’d let his walls down, even if just for this moment, to relieve the pain she’s been trying so hard to hide and shoulder alone. He was right about that, too; she didn’t have to do this alone. She was just so used to the gaping loneliness before her that she couldn’t see the people who wanted to be let in. She just couldn’t let them in. Didn’t think they really wanted in. No one had before, yet here Deacon was, knocking at her door, offering the help she so desperately needed. All she had to do, was open that door.

“Through thick and thin, pal. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. You can count on me. If I have anything to say about it, you’re gonna get through this.”

“Honest?”

There was hope in Whisper’s eyes, just what he wanted to see. She’d be ok, and a relieved breath pushed through his lips before his trademark smirk pulled them up.

“Well, if we start getting charged by a Glowing Deathclaw hell-bent on death and destruction, I _might_ run screaming. This face? Too handsome to go out like that.”

Whisper couldn’t restrain her laughter, nose wrinkling as she snorted into her hand.

“Atta girl, welcome back to the world of the living. Name’s Deacon, and I’ll be your guide on this horrible tour. Mind your arms and legs, and caps are due up front.”

Another playful punch from Whisper, this time a lot harder and with a lot more gusto. Deacon recoiled in mock pain, letting out a yelp as he rubbed his arm.

“OW! Oh god, I can’t feel my arm. Ugh...I think you put me out of commission. Send for help. Get Carrington on the line. Fuuuuck ow, ow, ow! We might have to amputate!”

“Oh shut up, Deacon.”

With one last sniffle, hands wiping at her face, then Whisper pulled herself to her feet, offering Deacon a hand to pull him up with her. It was good to see that smile on her face again. Suited her a whole lot better.

“How about we get out of here, huh? I could use a stiff drink, and you owe me for this mission.”

“Hey, hey now. I didn’t send you out here. Take it up with The Boss Lady”

“Yeah, but I don’t think Des will fork over the caps for some booze.”

“Point. How about...I don’t charge you for the tour, and we’ll call it even?”

Whisper rolled her eyes, shaking her head before offering her hand to shake.

“Deal. Lets just get a move on, alright?”

Deacon took Whisper’s hand firmly, giving it a good shake before nodding his head back towards the main city. He was just as eager to get on out of here.

“Righto, boss. One whiskey and Nuka-Cola, coming right up.”

Neither of them knew the perils they would face in the near future. Neither of them knew the lives that would be lost, the high price they would need to pay in exchange for the lives they tried so desperately to save. But for now, they could at least take a small break amid the chaos, and enjoy each other’s company. Nothing could beat a good drink with a good friend.


End file.
